S T A T E M E N T
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Wednesday, March 16, 2022 — 7
Winter coats, rent
payments and other
thoughts from a First Gen
student
Read more at
MichiganDaily.com
MACKENZIE HUBBARD
Statement Columnist
In my adult life, the only time I
ever asked my parents for money
was when I needed to buy a winter
coat.
I was a freshman in college at the
time, attending Emerson College,
a private school in Boston. I’d lived
in northern Michigan my whole
life, and I was sick of all of it — the
weather, the people, the idea of
staying close to my family. So I got
out. Ran as far away as I could. And
that meant running halfway across
the country to a school I knew I
couldn’t pay for but chose to go to
anyway.
I underestimated the biting cold
of fall and winter on the East Coast.
Somehow I had gone all of high
school and much of middle school
without a winter coat. My reasoning
was simple — the only time I needed
one was to walk from my car into
school. Besides, I had three younger
sisters who were not nearly as
practical nor frugal as me, insisting
that they needed a new winter coat
every year. So, I resigned myself to
hand-me-down fabric coats from
my aunts.
But then freshman year of college
came around and suddenly I was
walking upward of two miles a
day in Massachusetts. I realized
a flimsy fabric coat simply wasn’t
going to cut it. I knew nor’easters
were a big part of the coast’s
meteorological makeup, and I knew
I’d need something warmer to walk
to class in if something like that
happened.
And sure, half the people I knew
were walking around in Michael
Kors coats, or sporting a Tommy
Hilfiger jacket, but those were
the same people who lamented
about how the financial aid at the
school just wasn’t enough. They
were the same people who already
had student debt simply because a
private school on an urban campus
is
exorbitantly
expensive
for
anyone. There was an openness,
and a sense of camaraderie, in that
we all understood the price tag of
the school was nothing to scoff at.
I sent my parents a text, the
request for a new coat veiled
through laments about how cold it
was and how different East Coast
winter was to “Michigan cold.” But
they didn’t catch the hint. Or maybe
they purposely ignored it. Either
way, I finally came out and asked
them if they could pay for a winter
coat. I’d go to Primark — before I
knew what a disastrous company it
was — and get something for cheap.
The Macy’s in Downtown Crossing
was also having a sale. Or I’d find
something discounted at Marshalls.
Their response was a resounding
‘no.’
***
At Emerson, I worked in the
registrar’s office. I knew the amount
of money some of the students at
that school were dealing with. But
I also witnessed the pain firsthand
when I had to file withdrawal
forms from students explaining
that they just couldn’t keep up with
tuition. On average, private colleges
can cost upward of $40,000 per
academic year, while public schools
can range from $10,000 for in-state
students and $20,000 for out-of-
state students. Scholarships and
financial aid could only go so far
when a year of Emerson’s tuition
alone was nearly as much as my
father made in an entire year.
I transferred to the University
of Michigan specifically for their
financial aid program. I knew
my parents wouldn’t help me pay
for tuition and I needed a school
I could pay for myself, or receive
enough financial aid to survive
off of. I figured that a school like
the University would be different
somehow. After all, I personally
receive the “Go-Blue Guarantee”
and know many other students
who receive substantial financial
assistance.
I should feel like I belong, right?
I can’t pinpoint exactly when I
noticed this subtle isolation, but
it became more apparent after a
conversation I had with a friend
during my sophomore year. I
described my feelings of impostor
syndrome and how I feared that
the University only accepted me
because I filled a quota and not for
my academic merit. I theorized that
they need to accept some students
from the lowest income bracket
to show that they do, in fact, have
a great financial aid system. They
needed enough charity cases so
that they could blast their “Free
Tuition” ad on every Youtube and
Facebook page, talking about how
they give students opportunities
they wouldn’t otherwise have.
My friend laughed and said to
me, “Yeah, you’re probably right.”
Taken aback by the response,
suddenly I was watching everything
I did and said about my financial
status around anyone. And, I was
watching others. I watched my
roommate buy a week’s worth of
groceries on her mom’s credit card.
I watched someone buy two pairs of
Lululemon leggings without calling
her parents before swiping their
bank card. I watched a friend leave
a tip at a restaurant with their dad’s
money.
The markers of wealth are subtler
in Ann Arbor than in Boston. I
don’t regularly see people walking
down the street in Gucci sweaters
here, but I do see people sporting
Canada Goose everywhere I turn.
People don’t pop across the city for
cannolis and genuine Italian coffee
during their lunch break, but they
get oat milk and cold foam and an
extra shot of espresso in their daily
Starbucks drinks.
And no one talks about financial
aid.
When
it’s
the
middle
of
December and I’m waiting for my
next semester’s aid to be processed
so I can pay rent, I don’t hear
anyone else mention how their
reimbursement checks are late. I
realized, at some point, many U-M
students were not paying their own
rent, including most of my friends
— their parents were. Meanwhile,
I learned how to sign a lease by
myself, remembering to pay rent on
the first of every month. I hunted
for and secured an apartment in
the hellscape that is the Ann Arbor
rental pool while my friends had
parents who were willing to help
them find housing and pay for it
outright.
When I walk out of Ulrich’s
in tears because of the amount
textbooks put me back, most of
my friends don’t empathize. Their
parents had paid for all their books,
while I was hoping I had enough
leftover aid money to pay for mine.
I worked 12 hours a week on top
of classes and extracurriculars,
learning that many of my friends
had never worked a job in their life.
Here, the discrepancies are small
and almost invisible. And I can’t
help but think that’s on purpose.
***
Once, I found myself crying in
the storage room of the office I
work at because I couldn’t get more
hours and, thus, couldn’t pay for
grad school applications. Asking
my parents for a penny wasn’t
even a thought. My education has
always been and will forever be my
responsibility, on both a personal
and financial level, because my
family simply doesn’t have the
resources to support me.
My dad crafts metal parts for a
living. When I first started filling
out undergraduate applications,
there was a section concerning
your parents’ professions. I was 17
years old and I didn’t know what
my father did when he went to
work, other than that he made these
mysterious parts. My mom said to
write ‘machinist,’ so I did.
He has worked the same job
his whole adult life. Neither he
nor my mother went on to college,
his pay supporting a family of six.
Essentially, that puts us firmly
within the poverty line. Like my
grandparents before us. And their
parents before them. Turtles all the
way down, or whatever the phrase
is.
Design by Reid Graham /
/ Page Design by Sarah Chung
Behind the packaging:
Unraveling ‘cruelty free’
CAITLIN LYNCH
Statement Correspondent
Design by Kate Shen /
/ Page Design by Sarah Chung
Content warning: Descriptions of
animal abuse.
When I was in middle school, my
favorite hangout spot was the skincare
aisle of CVS. The perfect weekend
destination was a one-to-two-hour
trip with my best friend spent poring
over rows of brightly colored face
washes, acne creams and animal-
shaped face masks. As a 13-year-old
with an ExtraCare card, I felt like
royalty as I sauntered inside. It was
my version of a candy store: an aisle-
long, gray-carpeted heaven under
fluorescent lights.
I was in an unfortunate stage of my
skincare journey where I thought that
if I just found the right beautifully-
packaged product, all my blemishes
would disappear. This belief led me
to switch skincare products about
once a month, which did not end
up helping. I had a brief and ill-
fated relationship with the classic
Neutrogena Grapefruit Cleanser, as
well as many other similar encounters
with products that I initially had high
hopes for.
Years before, I had an obsession
with Lip Smacker lip balms. I was
mesmerized by the shiny packaging
and delicious saccharine, slightly
plastic-y taste of their Sprite- and
Coca-Cola-flavored balms. And right
before that, I recognized my older
sister’s Baby Lips lip balm, with its
label written in messy, neon font, as
the epitome of coolness.
Toward the end of middle school,
however, I learned that some of
the products I used were tested on
animals and became aware of cruelty-
free products. After watching a
slew of YouTube videos and Netflix
documentaries about the horrors of
animal testing, the nostalgic products
of my childhood were now marked
by the cruel treatment inflicted on
animals before the products reached
the shelves.
In accordance with the Humane
Society
International’s
definition,
animal testing is the use of living
animals
for
research
purposes,
which includes testing the safety of
cosmetics. Methods of animal testing
include long periods of physical
restraint, force-feeding of chemicals
to animals and dripping of corrosive
chemicals into their eyes. These
conditions and practices cause some
animals to develop neurotic behaviors
such as harming themselves or
incessantly spinning in circles. Most
animals are killed when they are done
being used for experiments, and others
are “re-used” for future experiments.
I was horrified to learn this,
especially as a consumer who was so
enthralled by the bright and happy
advertising that characterizes so
many beauty brands. It contrasts so
sharply from the realities of how the
products are made. After learning
about this cruelty, I made a pact with
myself to stop buying cosmetics that
were tested on animals.
I soon learned that, unfortunately,
breaking down what is and isn’t
“cruelty-free” yields a dizzying web of
contradictions that makes it extremely
difficult for consumers to know if
what they are buying was actually
tested on animals. Because there
is no legal definition for the term,
cosmetic companies’ use of the term is
unrestricted. Brands take advantage of
a linguistic loophole: a company may
label a finished product as not tested
on animals, but “rely on raw material
suppliers or contract laboratories” to
conduct the animal testing instead.
Attempting to shop cruelty-free is
further complicated by the fact that
some companies advertise as though
they do not test on animals, but sell
in countries where animal testing
is required. Aveeno, for example,
states on its website that “the fact is,
AVEENO® doesn’t conduct animal
testing of our cosmetic products
anywhere in the world, except in the
rare situation where governments or
laws require it.” The “rare situation”
described in this statement and in
those of various other brands often
refers to animal testing requirements
in mainland China. With China
making
up
the
second-largest
market for cosmetics, fragrances and
personal-care products in the world,
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